There were two Mahatma Gandhi’s in the Heritage Week fancy dress competition. One, a boy of 10 or 12, was an almost perfect replica. He wore his steel-rimmed spectacles on the end of his nose and walked with such a pronounced stoop that, without the support of his prodding cane, he would have overbalanced.

The second Gandhi — much younger — was not so convincing. But he raisedthe cheer of the morning when, the microphone having been lowered to hislevel, he cried: “English go home!” Most of the tourists, watching from theramparts of Agra’s Red Fort joined in the laughter. But some of the Indians looked slightly apologetic when they caught the eye of Europeans. And Indians made up a large part of the crowd. It would not have been so 10 years ago. But now India has a middle class which takes its country’s complicated history seriously. Last week, they were at the Taj Mahal (queuing up to be photographed on the bench that Princess Diana made famous), at Sarnath in the shadow of the great monuments that marked where Buddha first turned his Wheel of Life, at Khajuraho among the sculptures of the Chandela temples and even on the battered rowing boats on the river Ganges, watching the extraordinary spectacle of pious Hindus burning their dead. In fact, they were everywhere during my two-week tour which provided a new wonder every day. India is irresistibly seductive and, at last, some Indians have time to fall under its spell. I was there with a party from Cox & Kings to talk about India’s history. I set out apprehensive about how we would get on together; fortunately it all worked very well. Otherwise a group tour would be intolerable.

A country that aims to become a global super power still glories in ritualsthat have not changed in 2,000 years. Yet somehow there seems to be noparadox. The burning ghats are a far less intimidating sight than the touristimagines before arrival in India. Funeral rites are always unnerving. But there is a strange nobility in the way in which each mourning family carries the corpse to the heap of sandalwood and reverentially set the pyre alight. The bathing ghats — ghats being steps — stretch out on either side of the burning ground. Thousands of Hindus wash away their sins at sunrise in theholy water. Behind them, the temples combine the sacred and the profane ,their ancient walls decorated with painted advertisements for cafes andlodging houses. Varanasi — the city of the ghats — is what every traveller imagines India to be. Cows wander along its narrow, crowded streets. Hawkers pester tourists to buy tawdry souvenirs. Armed police guard the mosque — the scene of recent communal disturbances. And cobwebs of power cables hang across the roads between houses that, in the west, would be called hovels. A notice urges “Report Electricity Theft”.

But in India there is always light in the darkness. Splashes of colour — ascharacteristic of India as the wandering holy men — come from stalls sellingred rose petals to scatter on the Holy Ganges and garlands of golden marigolds for pilgrims to wear.

Sarnath, though only 10k m away, is as tranquil and austere as Varanasiis hyperactive and slovenly. There, Buddha preached his first sermon to the five disciples who became his missionaries to the world, setting out his Four Noble Laws and Eight Noble Paths to Righteousness and the end of sorrow. At Sarnath, the icons of Buddhist and Hindu India coincide. The wheel has become a symbol of the modern republic and the four lion heads — carved from a single stone — that once crowned the now destroyed Asoka pillar are so much part of the art of both religions that they appear on every Indian bank note. Indians of every religion and non are proud of Sarnath. And so they should be.

To celebrate the life and work of their religion’s founder, fourth-centuryBuddhist monks built two great stupas at Sarnath. One survives. Guidebookscall it a monolith but, far from being a single piece of rock, it is a product of athousand craftsmen putting together a million pieces of sand stone to createa place of safety for holy relics. It casts its long shadow over the excavatedremains of the Buddhist temples and the scarlet bougainvillea growing among them.

India is a nation of temples and mosques. Some are small and dilapidated, built apparently haphazardly at the roadside in between the coffee shops and fruit stalls. Others are hidden inside what looks like derelict or half-completed buildings. A few have the magnificence that only thefortunes of the emperors could provide.

At Khajuraho, the Chandla dynasty — who ruled India between the 10thand 13th centuries — built 88 great monuments to the glory of Lord Krishna; 22 still stand, gleaming sandstone red and white against the skyline. Each one is clad and covered in exquisite detailed carvings of wars fought, battles won and, since they are said to be illustrations from the Karma Sutra, the complicated possibilities of physical passion. Guides, expecting tourists’ attention to turn in that direction, point out the “positions of love” with lip-smacking relish. But they also have the grace to demand almost equal attention for the little cameos of ancient Indian life — the woman cutting a corn from the sole of her foot, the girl smiling as she writes a secret letter to her lover and the woman admiring her long hair in a mirror.

Some monuments have not fared as well as Khajuraho. Lucknow is now a Hindu city. Only 30% of its citizens are Muslim, but before partition in 1947 the situation was reversed. Not surprisingly, it boasts two of India’s most splendid examples of Mogul tomb architecture — the Bara Imambara and Chota Imambara. Both are a riot of minarets, porticoes and pediments, arched doorways, latticed windows and delicate balustrades. Both are in anadvanced stage of dilapidation. Some restoration work on one mosaic ceilinghas begun. Craftsmen cling to rickety bamboo scaff olding. And decay has anostalgic charm. But the beauty will not survive without help.

In the Chota Imambara, the chain bell-pulls — by which a supplicant couldrequest an audience with the Nawab — still hang between the gatehouse andthe courtyard. If a ghostly ruler were to respond to a call today he would weep to see what has become of the shrine to mistresses and wives.

As every British schoolboy used to know, Lucknow was the scene of the great siege of 1858. “Pipes of the misty morning...” began the poem thatcelebrated the city’s relief by the Highlanders. The British Residence, inwhich the predominantly “native infantry” held out, is now a well preserved ruin, only partly demolished, and that by time rather than shot and shell.

It is a relic of the Raj that the Indians are particularly broadminded about. An animated tableau depicts half a dozen heroic horsemen charging themassed battalions of Queen Victoria’s empire. But there is plaque to mark the place where General Lawrence fell and a roll of honour lists the names of all the men who fought and died. Most of the troops — on both sides of thebarricades — were Indian. Tales of resentment at the use of mutton and pig fat to grease cartridges are much exaggerated. The real cause of the revolt was fear, generally groundless, of compulsory conversion to Christianity and the brief emergence of an emperor who was prepared to put tribal prejudice aside and lead an all-out Indian revolt. That enabled our guide to refer to what we call the Mutiny as the First War of Independence — probably the more appropriate title.

Mementoes of the Raj are everywhere in Delhi and some of them are asspectacular as the most flamboyant Hindu temple. The India Gate, theParliament Building and the Vice Regal Palace — designed by Edwin Lutyensand built between the wars — was an affirmation of the imperial power thatwas about to end. They stand on a ceremonial highway, along which, as onevery Indian road, honking taxis and motor rickshaws always (and only just)manage to avoid collision.

Both types of vehicles are now powered with pollution-free gas. Delhi is working hard to become a 21st century city. Itinerant cattle, down in number from 40,000 to barely 30,000, are increasingly caught, confiscated and taken outside the city boundary — without compensation to their owners. Shops that have done business for a hundred years are “sealed”, aeuphemism for closed, if they ply their trade in residential areas. An animalwelfare act prohibits snake charming — more to destroy the image of Old India than to protect an endangered species. But Old India lives on.

It lives on in Dehli’s Dargah Hazrat Nizamuddin Aulia mosque — not asingle building but a complex of shops, humble houses (which in India are very humble indeed), prayer rooms and cafes. Goats, many of them inhabiting the low flat roofs, wear coats to protect them from the cold of night.

Beggars sleep on the cobbled pavements. Women wash clothes in what looks like an ancient swimming bath and the recordings of Bollywood music — now the true sound of India — blare out from a hundred tape recorders. In one tea house, a Kashmiri drank the sweet tea made with boiled milk, the staple drink of Muslims down the ages. And he ate cheese sandwiches made from Kitty Patty sliced bread. A cow was hidden in a nearby shed in the hope of avoiding confiscation. Whether or not Kipling was right to say that East and West will never meet, the past meets the present in India.

Experiencing even a taste of its delights is an exacting business. It requires two weeks of early mornings, long train journeys and the ascent of countless steps. Every sleepless moment is well spent. There will be demands that the weary traveller regards as unnecessary calls on his stamina. The Taj Mahal — a little too white and a little too perfect to inspireaffection rather than awe — is not significantly different at sunrise fromwhat it is at noon. But the 5.30am excursion is de rigueur. Accept thediscipline and enjoy India. You will be amazed.

About this article

Roy Hattersley enjoys a whirlwind tour of India

This article appeared on p2 of the Travel section of the Guardian
on Friday 1 December 2006.
It was published on
the Guardian website
at 09.16 EST on Saturday 2 December 2006.
It was last modified at 09.16 EST on Tuesday 5 December 2006.
It was first published at 19.00 EST on Tuesday 21 November 2006.